


My Best Intentions Keep Making a Mess

by kbs_was_here



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Groundhog Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbs_was_here/pseuds/kbs_was_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Quinn's the one who needs to get it right. And she's going to keep reliving the same day until she does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“It’s like Groundhog’s Day with you, Rachel. How many times do you have to make the same mistake to realize that it’s not going to work out?”_

When Quinn first utters the words, they’re about Rachel’s incessant pursuit of Finn and the girl’s shortsightedness when it comes to her priorities.

Now, though. She isn’t so sure.

This whole thing begins as something simple, something standard. Quinn wants Prom Queen, she’s going to get Prom Queen, she just needs to exercise the perfect plan. To do that, she needs to get closer to Rachel.

It’s not even difficult because Rachel actually pitched a good idea when she suggested original songs for Regionals, so it’s easy to jump on board and offer a friendly allegiance in the name of Glee Club victory.

Except it all unravels over a single stupid conversation about Finn and she’s left at the piano in the auditorium while Rachel exits in a manner unusually quiet compared to her regular diva stormouts.

Quinn knows she’s hurt her, but she figures it’s not her place to fix it.

* * *

When she wakes up to The Supremes singing Someday We’ll Be Together, she thinks it’s a little weird, because she’s pretty sure that’s the same song she woke up to yesterday, but sometimes her iPod doesn’t really shuffle very well and repeats aren’t that uncommon. She forces herself out of bed, not at all missing the mornings when she did this a full hour earlier for Cheerios.

Everything’s business as usual until she grabs the conditioner bottle and it’s way too light to be the same bottle she’s sure she replaced with a full one after yesterday’s shower. Though, it’s still early and she’s still waking up, so it’s possible she had one of those dreams about doing totally mundane stuff. There’s barely enough left to properly condition her hair and she absently contemplates how much she’d save on hair products if she just cut off half of it. But she might look weird. Or it could be totally cute. Maybe if she and Santana are actually talking this week, she’ll get an opinion.

With her towel wrapped tightly around her, she checks under the sink and finds an unopened bottle of Paul Mitchell Color Protect conditioner, then places it on the shower shelf. The empty bottle clatters in the trash can and she’s positive she’s awake, this time.

* * *

Breakfast is eerily like the day before, in that her mother’s already left for work, and it’s just cereal unless Quinn feels like cooking something else, which she doesn’t. She works through a bowl of Special K while the Keurig brews her regular Donut Shop blend morning coffee into her Cheerios travel mug (even though the team isn’t a part of her life, Coach special ordered the cups from Europe and they keep things ridiculously hot for so long, she’s pretty sure witchcraft is involved).

* * *

On the drive to school, she sees Mr. Ryerson out walking a cat on a leash, which was weird enough yesterday, so twice in a row is doubly strange. Especially when he waves at her and calls out something about her cheekbones, again.

* * *

When she finally finds a parking spot (she definitely misses the days when she freely parked in the designated Cheerio row, right next to the gym), she only has ten minutes before class. Finn’s waiting, as usual, by her locker and the first thing she notices about him is that he’s wearing the same shirt two days in a row.

“I know guys don’t usually care, but try and mix it up a little?” she says, as she tugs on the front of the polo.

“Huh?” It looks good on him, though.

“Nothing, just wear something else tomorrow, okay?” She spins her locker combination and finds the books she needs to start the day.

“Is there something special going on?”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Not as far as I know.”

They walk together without any PDA, because they’re still not officially on the radar, but that doesn’t stop her from fixing his collar before she ducks into her first period class. Finn has this confused look on his face, but he looks like that a lot, so she just lightly pats his chest and says she’ll see him at lunch.

* * *

Except she seeks him during the break between second and third period.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“I... have no idea. Are you okay? You look weird. I mean, not your face or anything, but you seem like you’re upset.”

“Today’s Thursday, right?”

“Um.” Finn fishes his phone out of his pocket and looks at the date. “No. Wednesday.”

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Everything. I don’t know. It’s probably just nothing.”

He looks up and down the hall, then gently takes her by the arm and guides her off to the side. “You’re not... you know... pregnant, again, are you?”

She yanks her arm away and glares at him. “Why would you even ask that? You know we haven’t done anything.”

“Yeah, I know. And... I kind of learned a lot last week with Miss Holliday. But you’re acting kind of confused and stuff and I remember when you were going to have the baby, you kept forgetting where you left your keys.”

As much as Finn’s oblivious to a lot of things, he can be kind of attentive. “When I woke up this morning, I was pretty positive it was Thursday.”

“Oh, I do that kind of stuff all the time. Earlier this year I woke up at three in the morning and started getting ready for school until Kurt found me and told me to stop making so much noise because it was cutting into his beauty rest regiment.”

“Regimen.”

“Huh?”

“One’s an army thing, the other’s, like, a treatment.”

“Oh. I wonder which one he meant.”

“The second one.”

“How do--”

“--Finn!” She feels her voice go to a place she hates to hear, so she sucks in a breath and tries to get him back on track. “Focus. Please.”

“Right. Uh, so...” His forehead creases as he tries to remember what they were talking about. “Oh. So, you thought it was Thursday. I’m pretty sure that without Coach Sylvester breathing down your neck all the time, you probably just aren’t used to a regular schedule or something.”

He has a point. “Yeah. That’s... probably it.” She smiles at him, because as ridiculous as he is about a lot of things, sometimes his simple approach to things makes it all feel a little less intense. “Thanks.”

* * *

That’s not it, though.

When lunchtime rolls around, she already knows Finn’s going to be late because he didn’t turn in his history assignment on time and has to stay after class. She knows there’s an open seat next to Mike and Tina, who aren’t her first choice for lunchtime buddies, but sitting with a make-out couple is still a step up from sitting alone.

She wonders if she’s psychic.

* * *

The question resurfaces as she sits at the piano in the auditorium. Up until now, the day’s played out like an all-too-real dream, but it’s been tolerable. Like super intense deja-vu.

But when Rachel walks in, ten minutes after their determined meeting time, Quinn knows what she’s about to say.

Still, she speaks first. “You’re late.”

Rachel doesn’t even acknowledge that, but that’s what Quinn expects. “We’re friends, right?”

“I guess so.” She mentally braces herself, because if Rachel goes off on the tangent she thinks is coming, she’s just going to cut her off.

“I mean, like, everything happened last year. You gave your baby to my mom. We kind of--”

“Bonded over it. What’s your point?”

“My point is…Is that I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together this year, but I thought that we were close enough to be honest with each other.” There’s no way this is happening, because as predictable as Rachel it, it’s like Quinn’s physically heard the words before.

“Go ahead. Ask me.”

“Fine. Are you and Finn together?”

“Yes. It’s been a couple of weeks.” She wants to say more, but she feels sick. This is too weird, too unsettling. Whatever resolve she had going into this is lost.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Quinn, and… And I’m happy for you and Finn, but don’t go and try to rewrite history, okay? It was real between us. He chose me over you.” The words are an echo in her head and she tries to ground herself by gripping the bench underneath her, but something isn’t right.

She looks up to see Rachel still on the other side of the piano, but she falls out of focus and then Quinn hits the floor.

* * *

“Quinn?!” Someone’s shaking her shoulder. “Quinn, can you hear me?”

Her head hurts and that just compounds exponentially when she forces her eyes open to see Rachel Berry leaning over her.

“Oh, good.” Rachel exhales in relief and assists Quinn in sitting up. “I was about to run for the nurse, but I was worried about leaving you alone. It was a bit of a dilemma.”

“How long was I...”

“A few seconds. You just passed out.”

Quinn rubs both her hands over her face. “I should probably go to the nurse.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

She wants to say no, but there’s really no other option. “Fine.”

“I feel I may have overwhelmed you with my statements about Finn. While I stand by them, perhaps I could have worded my feelings differently.”

Quinn hates that she needs to lean against Rachel in order to stay upright, because the girl is driving her absolutely insane. “Why do you even care so much about him?”

“Why do you?” Rachel asks, keeping a steady arm around Quinn’s back as they descend the stage steps.

“That’s different.”

“Because you’re popular?”

“Because you don’t need him.”

“And you do?”

She feels the anger welling back up inside her. “You don’t understand it because you’re so caught up in this fairytale idea of romance. It’s not like that.”

“How is it, then?” They’ve stopped walking.

The words just come to her, not so much because of the repetitiveness of the day, but because she’s thought about this on more than one occasion. “I get Finn, you get heartbroken. He and I stay here and start a family. I’ll become a successful real estate agent and he’ll take over Kurt’s dad’s tire shop.” She pulls away from Rachel, but moves a little too quickly and has to catch her balance one of the auditorium seats. “You don’t belong here, Rachel. You can’t hate me for trying to get you out of here.”

“No. I’m not giving up on him, it’s not over between us.”

“Yes, it is!” Quinn’s close to tears and she really doesn’t want to break down, even though she’s already fainted in front of Rachel. “You’re... so frustrating. This is exactly why you can’t write anything that means something. You don’t see past this stupid schoolgirl fantasy life.”

Rachel’s arms are crossed over her chest. “I’m walking you to the hall, then you can find someone else to walk with you to the nurse. I don’t... feel very comfortable around you, right now.”

“Whatever, I’ll walk myself.”

* * *

Brittany drives her home with a plan to pick her up the next morning, since her car’s still in the school parking lot.

“Tomorrow will be better. Lord Tubbington says Thursdays are the best days. Other than Caturday.”

Quinn looks into the face of the other girl and wonders why they don’t hang out more, lately. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Not mine. Lord Tubbington’s.”

“See you in the morning, Britt.”

* * *

The nurse said she’d be fine, that she just needed to hydrate and rest. This was after Quinn glared at her for asking if there was any possibility she might be pregnant.

She downs a Vitamin Water and rummages through the fridge for leftovers. After she eats, she changes into her pajamas, even though it’s still early. It’s been a long day and she just wants to veg out.

She’s sound asleep before ten o’clock.

* * *

As comforting as it is to hear Diana Ross three mornings in a row, she’s convinced something’s up with her iPod dock and makes a mental note to check the settings.

It isn’t until she’s in the middle of her shower and realizes the conditioner bottle is way too light that she considers her problem might be a lot deeper than she originally thought.


	2. Chapter 2

No. There’s no way this is happening.

She quickly finishes her shower and doesn’t even bother to dry off before she yanks open the cabinet and sees the bottle of conditioner. Her next step of investigation is her closet and, upon opening the door, she sees the dress she wore yesterday, still on the hangar, even though she remembers haphazardly tossing it on top of the hamper last night.

Okay. It’s happening. But it’s a joke.

“Mom?” she calls out, rubbing a towel over her hair.

No answer. Because her mother’s already left for work.

She calls Brittany.

“Hello?” mumbles the gravely voice on the other end.

Quinn paces her room in her underwear. “Britt. Did I ask you to pick me up this morning?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Quinn.” She digs through her dresser and decides on a pair of jeans, because that’s the opposite of what she wore yesterday, so maybe that means something.

“Quinn who?”

“Brittany!” Her voice does that thing.

“Oh. Hey, Q.”

“I asked you to pick me up this morning, right?” She can’t bring herself to just look out the window and answer the question for herself.

“I don’t think so. But maybe I forgot. What time is it? I was having a really good dream about Pocahontas.”

“It’s seven. You should be up, anyway.”

“I think Lord Tubbington turns off my alarm. He likes to sleep in.”

“Britt.”

“Huh?”

Quinn’s about to ask, again, but she decides to just suck it up and check for the car. Sure enough, it’s parked where it always is. “I’ll... see you at school.”

“Kay.”

* * *

She skips breakfast. Maybe if she gets to school earlier than usual, this thing will disappear. Maybe she can shake it. Mr. Ryerson’s not anywhere to be seen on the drive over, so she takes that as a good sign.

There aren’t that many people on campus when she parks (nice and close). Her hair’s up in a bun under her fedora, because she didn’t even bother doing her hair (and her make-up’s as minimal as she felt she could stand, because she just wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible) and she’s wearing a blouse under a cotton jacket and the whole ensemble makes her feel a little like a spy on a mission. Which works out well, because she’s trying to solve whatever the hell this mystery is.

The halls are practically empty and she realizes she misses the early morning quiet of campus, at least as much as she was able to enjoy before Coach Sylvester whipped out her bullhorn. Now that she’s there, she’s not really sure where to go, though she naturally gravitates toward the choir room.

Through the window, she can see Rachel sitting at the piano, picking out a melody that probably belongs to some weird original song about her stupid knee socks or the trials and tribulations of sitting in the mezzanine at a Broadway show. Her stomach twists as she realizes that Rachel’s wearing the same red and white sweater as she was before, which means this is definitely the same day, again. Not that she wasn’t already fairly sure, but the confirmation makes her dizzy. She braces herself against the doorframe, because she doesn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s (or today’s, whatever) fainting episode, if she can help it.

Maybe she should just talk to her now, maybe if she can avoid the conversation in the auditorium, that’ll make a difference.

She’s about to grab the handle and push open the door when a voice sounds behind her and just about makes her climb the wall because she’s so startled.

“Contemplating an early morning rendezvous with your former turned current quarterback lover?” It’s Jacob.

“Go away.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“I’m not meeting anyone.”

“Just spying, then.” He peeks through the window. “Interesting.”

“I wasn’t spying on anyone.”

“Okay, that is a denial. And I happen to know it’s an outright lie.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you lurking in the shadows, stalking Ms. Berry.”

“I’m not lurking. And it’s broad daylight.”

“Tell me, Quinn, just what kind of revenge do you plan to exact on your victim?”

“I plan to shove him in a locker if he doesn’t go away.”

“But Rachel’s not... Point taken.”

As Jacob finally leaves her alone, Quinn turns back to the window, except Rachel’s no longer at the bench. She cranes her neck to see where she could have gone but the door suddenly opens and there’s Rachel, standing right in front of her.

“Quinn?”

“Hey!” Quinn replies, turning up the charm, as if she’s been planning to greet Rachel this entire time.

“What are you doing here?”

“I...” The idea comes to her and she’s already kicking herself for not thinking of this sooner. “Wanted to work on our song.”

“But our meeting is scheduled for later today.”

“I know, but woke up inspired and I really didn’t want to waste it.” It made sense. In the last two days, they’d never gotten to the point of writing the song. Maybe that’s what needs to happen.

Rachel tilts her head. “I must admit that I’m impressed by your enthusiasm, Quinn.”

Quinn follows behind her, back into the choir room. “Well, we are on kind of a time crunch to get this done.”

“We certainly are. And from what I’ve heard, this assignment isn’t being taken as seriously as it should.” Rachel seems a little flustered, but Quinn couldn’t tell if it was because of the song or something else.

“Yeah, I heard a few bars of Trouty Mouth when Santana was testing the acoustics of the girls’ room.” It had actually sounded really good, aside from the borderline offensive lyrics.

Rachel opened a folder on top of the piano. “After our discussion yesterday, I took it upon myself to work out some ideas.”

They’d spent their songwriting time the day before (even though it felt like days ago to Quinn) actually talking about things that were important. Beth had been a topic, though only briefly. But it had been kind of a good talk. Which was what made the outburst over Finn a little jarring, probably for both of them.

“Okay, let’s see what you--”

“Are you and Finn back together?” The question pops up and just hangs there between them.

“We... Yes, we are.” She wants to keep the focus on the necessary task, so she picks up one of Rachel’s notes. “Let’s start with Argyle Smile--”

“How long?”

“I don’t know, it’s your so--”

Rachel snatches the page out of her hand and sets it back on . “Not that. How long have you and Finn been back together?”

Quinn’s kind of in shock at the action, but she coolly replies with, “A couple weeks.” And there’s that stupid sad expression on Rachel’s face, again. “Why do you even care about him?”

“Because he cares about me, Quinn. He chose me over you, remember?”

“And now that’s over.” Every time this comes up, something surfaces so quickly, she rarely has time to intercept it. “And he’s with me.”

“You can’t re-write history.”

If Rachel only knew. “Can we just work on the song, please?”

It doesn’t matter, because the bell rings and she’s out of time.

* * *

She finds Finn waiting by her locker and immediately gives him a hug, because he’s there and even though he’s still wearing that damn polo shirt, he’s Finn and his hugs always make her feel better.

“Oh. Uh. Hey.” His arms slip around her, but his embrace is stiff, tentative.

“Sorry. Just a weird morning,” she says as she pulls away.

He looks up and down the hall before looking back at her. “Yeah, sure. I just... we’ve been careful about... you know.”

“Since when can’t you hug your friends?” Being careful apparently doesn’t even matter, because Rachel picked up on something, anyway.

* * *

When Rachel doesn’t show up on time for their originally scheduled songwriting meeting, Quinn heads for the choir room just in time to hear the song Mercedes wrote. It’s catchy and she likes it, but Mr. Schue immediately deems it not Regionals material.

“I liked it,” she says as Mercedes takes her seat.

“Thanks.”

Quinn offers her fist for the exploding hand gesture they haven’t done in ages and decides they need to hang out more often.

* * *

She and Rachel share a desk in history class and today they’re watching a movie about the Revolutionary War. It’s a perfect cover for note passing (texting draws too much attention in the dark), so she scribbles down a request to see the song notes, again.

The return page reads, **I think I want to work on it myself, thanks.**

Quinn looks at Rachel, but there’s no eye contact, so she sighs and jots down a reply. **This is lame. I don’t want to fight over Finn. It’s not worth it.**

**They why are you even dating him?**

**Stop worrying about it.**

**He still has feelings for me, I just know.**

**Get over yourself.** Quinn’s already written the words, but she realizes it’s not the best approach to get what she wants. Except Rachel’s already seen it.

**Maybe you should.**

**Real mature.**

**Leave me alone.** After that, Rachel won’t even take her eyes off the movie.

Quinn doesn’t care, and begins to write out a lengthy response, only to have a hand drop down on her notebook When she looks up, Mr. Steadman is standing over her.

“Miss Fabray, perhaps you and Miss Berry can reflect on the respectful use of classroom time while you’re sitting in detention.”

Detention. Detention is perfection. It’s more time for her to convince Rachel to write the song, and if the song’s written, maybe she can move on to--

“--tomorrow afternoon.”

“What?” she asks.

“I said, you’ll both serve detention tomorrow afternoon.”

“Can’t we do it today?”

There’s a light titter through the classroom.

“I’m sorry?”

“Detention. Can’t we do it today? It really works a lot better for me.”

“I realize you’re accustomed to preferential treatment from your time on the Cheerios, but you’re no longer on the squad, which means Coach Sylvester isn’t likely to put peanut butter under the door handles of my car.”

Rachel’s voice pipes up behind her. “Tomorrow’s fine for me, Mr. Steadman.”

“Oh, shut up,” Quinn snaps.

* * *

The rest of the day just sucks.

When she gets home, she spends the rest of the afternoon doing absolutely nothing that matters, because nothing does. Except then she starts to worry about whether or not tomorrow actually will happen and if her homework isn’t done, she’ll get marked down and she can’t really risk screwing up her GPA.

Her evening is spent on two essays and ten equations.

Eventually, she falls into bed, praying that this whole mess is over, promising that she’s learned her lesson (even though she’s not sure what it was), and if God is feeling generous, she’d very much like to progress to Thursday.

She’s asleep before she mutters “Amen”.

* * *

When The Supremes wake her up the same morning, she doesn’t even bother getting out of bed.


	3. Chapter 3

“No. No no no no.” Quinn mutters her protests into her pillow, blanket up over her head.

This isn’t possible.

Maybe she’s sick. It’s a fever dream. Or a coma. Maybe she’s in a coma. A coma sounds about right.

She sit up and squints her eyes as she looks around, trying to see if she can make out overlapping images, like this space is just her imagination and she’s really in a hospital room. Nothing becomes apparent other than the fact that she’s probably insane.

Her body falls back against the pillows and she’s back to covering her face with the comforter. She checks her pulse. Normal. She recites the alphabet, thinks about who’s president, but then how will she know if she’s wrong?

The covers pull away from her face as she shoves them down with her arms. This leaves her with a clear view of the ceiling.

But she’s looking past that.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m trying.” One of these informal chats with The Almighty is probably overdue. She realizes she should have done this the first time. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

The thought flashes through her mind that maybe this is purgatory, that she’s on the precipice of something else and this is her final challenge and a chance to fix something. But then that thought scares the shit out of her, so she forces herself out of bed and heads downstairs. Once she’s in the kitchen, she turns on the small flatscreen television her mother usually monopolizes with the Food Network. For now, she turns on the morning news and lets the company of the local weather girl distract her from unsettling thoughts of the afterlife.

She’s weirdly hungry, even though she feels like her appetite should be gone.

So, she makes eggs.

* * *

After breakfast, she doesn’t bother with a shower. Instead, she raids her mom’s medicine cabinet and comes up with a bottle of Valium. She immediately pops one and saves another for later, before she returns to her bedroom and slips back between the sheets.

In the time it takes her body to react to the drug, she prays. Nothing formal, just a silent exchange. She and God have an understanding. Or she thought they did. She’s doing the best she can do to make things right and He’s supposed to make life tolerable for her. She doesn’t even bother asking for Good. Tolerable is fine by her. The occasional milestone (See: Prom Queen) should be enough to get her by.

She drifts into dreamless sleep and awakens several hours later to supreme silence.

* * *

At first, she’s incredibly relieved. It was all a stupid crappy dream. Or a hallucination. But as she sits up and spots the second Valium on the nightstand, she realizes it’s still Wednesday, as in one she already started.

She’s thirsty.

Her trip back down to the kitchen leads to her mother nearly clocking her in the head with the dirty frying pan she left on the stove that morning.

“Quinn! You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

Judy rests the pan on the counter and looks at her daughter. “Are you not well? Did you go to school?”

“No, I’m not. And no, I didn’t.” She considers telling her mom what’s happening, but she knows it sounds crazy, because it is.

It’s automatic, the hand on her forehead, though she hasn’t felt it there in years. “You don’t feel feverish.”

“I think I just need to sleep it off.” She can’t help but appreciate the maternal attention she’s getting.

“Did you call one of your friends about your homework? You can’t risk your GPA falling behind.”

“It’s just one day, Mom.” Though, now she’s thinking about how maybe she should do it (again), just in case. “I already have the assignments, anyway.”

“Do you want some soup?” Judy’s already rifling through the cupboards.

Does it even matter if she eats? Probably. Her stomach doesn’t seem to care that it’s repeating days, because she’s hungry, again. “Sure. Yeah.”

“Why don’t you go take a shower? You’ll feel better.”

She won’t. But she does it, anyway.

* * *

Even with the repetition, she still forgets about the fucking conditioner until she picks up the bottle to condition her hair.

* * *

Fresh pajamas. Soup. Homework.

They make it all feel like maybe this has just been an extra long sick day. She takes the second Valium and pulls the iPod out of the dock.

That night, she falls asleep to an AM oldies station.

* * *

She wakes up to the same random (but not random) song on her playlist.

Something needs to change.

Maybe it’s her.

* * *

She needs to find her ground, get her bearings. She knows exactly how to do that, because she’s done it twice before. This is a repeat performance, and not because of whatever weird supernatural thing that’s happening.

Shower.

Hair.

Make-up.

Wardrobe.

She grabs a cereal bar and a water bottle and she’s out the door.

* * *

Mr. Ryerson waves and shouts about her cheekbones, again.

She wonders why anyone would want to walk a cat on a leash.

* * *

She parks. She passes Finn in the hall.

“Hey, Qu-- Whoa.” She doesn’t stop, so he keeps up with her. “What’s going on?”

“I have a meeting. I’ll catch you at lunch.” She leaves him in her wake, because even without the pleats and polyester, she still cuts through the sea of students with practiced ease. It also probably helps that she’s sporting a ponytail and wearing a red skirt with a white sleeveless blouse. It’s the closest she can get to the uniform without actually wearing one.

* * *

“Becky, please call the nurse. I’m fairly certain I’m having a stroke induced hallucination,” Sue says, the moment Quinn steps into her office.

“On it, Coach.” Sue Sylvester’s First Officer bounces up from her chair, clipboard snug against her chest.

Quinn catches the evil eye she gets from Becky and shoots it right back at her before presenting herself to the coach. She’s rigid, she’s flawless, she’s going to do this because this has to be it. “I’m here to ask for my spot back.”

“Hold it. Becky. Strike the nurse plan. Give me a minute to entertain Fabray’s delusion, here.”

“Got it.” Becky shuts the door behind her, leaving the ex-Cheerio and her former coach alone together.

There’s a moment of silence as Sue studies Quinn. This is the third time they’ve done this and Quinn’s not sure what to expect.

“Fine.”

That’s definitely not the answer she was anticipating. “What?”

“You’re in.”

It can’t be that easy. She knows better. “What I need to do?”

“Two little things.”

Quinn braces herself. “What are they?”

“First, ditch the meat stick. Hudson only slows you down.”

“We’re not even--” But the glare she immediately receives is enough to tell her it’s not even worth denying. “Okay, done.” It sucks, but if it gets her out of this weird day, it’s worth it. She can easily get him back later.

“Second, toss one of those slushies on Rachel Berry.”

Everything stops. “What?”

“You abandoned me and the squad for Nationals to compete with that stupid glee club. I need a demonstration of allegiance. I don’t care if you stay in the club, in fact, I prefer having eyes on the inside. But she’s their hotheaded little beacon of light and I need her snuffed out.”

It almost sounds like a contract killing. But it was just a little flavored ice. Comparatively, it wasn’t even that big deal.

“Okay.”

“As soon as I hear confirmation from that creepy weird Jewish kid who sweats too much, you can pick up your uniform.”

* * *

Finn’s easy. In fact, almost too easy.

“How can we even break up if we’re not even dating?”

“You know what, you’re right. So, we’re not even doing anything.”

His eyes squint as he thinks about it. “Does this mean we can still make out?”

“No.” She slams her locker shut, harder than she actually intends. It still makes him jump. “Not for now.”

“Can we make out with other people?”

“I don’t care. We’re not dating.”

“Okay, but I don’t know what that means because we already weren’t. And I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

“I won’t.”

The look on his face suggests that he doesn’t believe her. She doesn’t blame him. She knows she all over the place, even on days that don’t repeat.

* * *

Rachel’s not so easy.

There was a point in time where Quinn wouldn’t have even thought twice about this. Though she never actually threw any of the icy drinks firsthand, she probably would have. There was just always someone else ready and willing. She also much preferred the satisfaction of other people doing the dirty work. That didn’t mean she couldn’t or wouldn’t, however.

The cup’s so cold it kind of hurts her hand, but Rachel’s due to round the corner at any second, because she always comes this way between second and third. Quinn knows, because they usually cross paths in the hall and she’s had her eye out, lately, as to not get caught with Finn.

She sees her, in that same red and white sweater, coming toward her. The slushie’s blue, so this is going to end up looking a lot like the Fourth of July.

The key to this is to just do it, not to stop, and to throw before Rachel even sees her. Because if Rachel sees her first, it’s going to suck even more.

Only, it’s almost like Rachel has slushie radar, because before they’re within ten feet of each other (see: ideal sluhie throwing range), she slows and her gaze locks onto the cup in Quinn’s hand.

It’s now or never.

Quinn chooses now.

It’s a flick of the wrist and then it’s over. A few people laugh. Shes doesn’t stick around to admire her handiwork.

The look of disappointment on Rachel’s face isn’t fading from her memory anytime soon, no matter how many times she lives through today.

* * *

She doesn’t even need Jacob to report the slushie incident to the coach. It’s all over the school by lunchtime.

She’s hungry, but she doesn’t want to brave the rest of the glee club, so she avoids the cafeteria and buys a Snickers bar out of the vending machine. Puck’s the one who eventually tracks her down.

“What the hell, Quinn?”

“You need a better opener if you’re looking for a conversation.” She doesn’t even look at him as she rips the package open.

“I thought we were all cool with each other.”

“We all think stupid things, sometimes. Like, maybe I can trust him not to knock me up.”

He grabs her elbow so she can’t walk away. “That’s not fair.”

“Life,” she says, yanking her arm back. “Isn’t about what’s fair. It’s about doing what needs to be done.”

“Manhandling a Cheerio is a serious offense, Puckerman.” Sue’s voice sounds from some place behind them.

She turns to see the cheerleading coach. Becky trails behind her with a dry cleaning bag in her hands. “Welcome back, Fabray,” says the girl as she passes the uniform to Quinn.

“See you at six. Have a warm up routine ready.” And then they’re gone.

“Is that what this is about?” Puck asks.

“Whatever it is, it’s not about you, so leave me alone.”

He has other words for her, but she’s not listening as she walks away.

* * *

Getting through the rest of the day sucks, because she can’t ditch her classes just in case this whole thing works. She shifts into autopilot mode, something she used a lot during the pregnancy, and just ignores everyone.

It’s a lonely way to finish out the day. But then, she’s used to that.

* * *

Her mom’s home, but she doesn’t really feel like talking, so she shuts herself in her room and fills out the same homework she’s done three times, now. At least she doesn’t have to think about the answers.

She’s done before eight and she’s too awake to sleep, so she sneaks into the master bathroom and steals another Valium (probably the same one).

As she drifts off, there’s nothing but dread. Either she’ll be back for more of the same or she won’t and she’ll have to deal with the consequences of that she’s done. Every time she shuts her eyes she sees Rachel’s stupid face and that look that tells her she isn’t the same girl she was two years ago, that she should know better.

* * *

The Supremes are back. There’s no uniform hanging on the back of her door.

For the first time since this thing started, she’s actually glad to have another chance.


	4. Chapter 4

She’s up before the second verse.

Shower (damn that elusive conditioner), dressed, breakfast bar. She’s out the door in less than thirty minutes.

The fedora’s being put to use, again, because she didn’t take the time to do anything with her hair, but her outfit’s less Bogart and more Bacall (at least in the sense that she’s wearing one of her skirts that falls into the part of her wardrobe Santana refers to as, “The place where old black and white movie clothes go to die.”) than the last time she wore it.

After a Starbucks detour, she’s at the school around the same time she arrived the other day. Or today. But before. The day when she found Rachel in the choir room.

This time, she doesn’t hover outside the door, she just enters and almost causes Rachel to fall off the piano bench because she’s so startled.

“Sorry.”

“I... just wasn’t expecting anyone.” Rachel quickly collects herself and turns back to the piano.

“I brought coffee.”

“Oh?”

Quinn nods and sets the drink carrier on bench next to Rachel. “Skinny vanilla latte. They both are. I... didn’t know what you normally get and that’s my drink so...”

“Latte as in ‘coffee with milk’?” Rachel asks, and immediately Quinn realizes the problem.

“Crap. You’re vegan. I should have gotten soy.” Her instinct is to write it down for next time, but it won’t matter because she can’t take anything with her when she comes back to today.

“It’s okay. I appreciate it.” As if to demonstrate the appreciation, Rachel picks up the cup and sips the coffee, but it’s hot. “Ow.”

Great. She’s supposed to be making things right and, so far, she’s maimed Rachel’s most prized body part. “Are you... I have water.”

Rachel shakes her head. “It’s okay. It’s good. Just... hot.” She removes the lid so it can cool.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want it.”

“Quinn. It’s fine. I like it. I used to get this sometimes before I cut out dairy.”

“You won’t get sick, will you?”

Rachel shakes her head. “Daddy refuses to substitute when he cooks, so I’m still acclimated. And my concern is one of excessive mucus production over that of animal rights. Though, I’m certainly an active supporter of PETA.”

Quinn’s not sure where to naturally steer the conversation from there, so she immediately shifts to songwriting. “Do you make any progress? With the song?”

“I did, yes.” Rachel reaches for the folder that sits on top of the piano. “Though, to be honest, I wasn’t planning to work on it until our meeting later.”

“I know.” Quinn hopes that reads like she simply agrees and not like she’s exhibiting some foreknowledge. Because, she is. “I figured we could get a head start. It’s not like we have loads of time before the competition.”

Rachel nods and even elicits hum of approval. But then things start to turn, the way they have every time. “Quinn? We’re friends, right?”

Quinn leans against the piano and pushes out a sigh. She’s not sure how to navigate this. “Yeah.”

“And we can talk about things, right?”

“We can. And... just ask, Rachel.”

Rachel looks up at her, surprised. “Okay. Are you and Finn seeing each other?”

“Yes,” she answers, firmly and for what she thinks is the fourth time. “It’s been a couple of weeks.” She can tell Rachel’s about to dive into her diatribe, so she cuts her off. “It’s not personal, okay? And you could do better.”

“Right.” Rachel scoffs and pushes herself up off the piano bench. “You mean you think I’m not good enough for him.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what I just said.”

“And you have such an upstanding reputation for saying what you mean?”

“I’m being honest with you. He’s small town, you’re big city.”

“If you believe that then why are you even bothering with him?”

“Because I’m...” Quinn tries to finish her sentence, but the weight of it hurts, no matter how many times she says or thinks it. “Because I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be stuck in Lima while you’re off living your dream. That’s just how it is.”

She doesn’t care if Rachel believes her, she doesn’t want to stick around and further this conversation. So, she walks away.

* * *

During third period, she requests a hall pass and escapes to the bathroom. She just wants some time by herself to think about what to do. Today might totally be blown, but she may have a chance to salvage things if Rachel shows up for their songwriting session during Glee.

She’s not alone when she enters the girls’ room, though. Brittany sits up on the counter and flips through a copy of Teen Vogue.

“Hey, Quinn.”

“Hi.” Quinn glances toward the door and wonders if she’s stumbled into a rendezvous. They haven’t talked to her about it, but she’s known what they’ve been up to since freshman year. And then all that stuff with the song last week, well... “Oh, are you waiting for Santana? Because I can go.”

Brittany shakes her head. “I don’t think she’s coming. Anyway, we do it in the janitor’s closet. In here would just be gross.” Her brow pushes together in thought, then realization. “Oh, unless you’re here to make out.”

“I’m not. Who would I even be meeting?” To Quinn, it’s hypothetical.

To Brittany, it’s a question with an answer. “Well, probably not Mercedes, because she’s definitely into guys. Tina’s obsessed with Mike’s abs. Becky has a crush on this guy in our Spanish class, not Mr. Schue. Don’t even say that to her, because she gets so mad. Um, so I guess that leaves Lauren, me, Santana, or Rachel. Oh, but Lauren probably isn’t going to go there because of your history with Puck. Santana’s too busy being ridiculous and I don’t remember you asking me to make out. So. That definitely leaves Rachel.”

Quinn waits for further justification as to why she’s not there to meet Rachel for a make-out session, but Brittany’s done talking. “Seriously?”

Brittany shrugs.

They don’t speak for a few moments. Brittany goes back to her magazine and Quinn studies herself in the mirror.

“You’re different today.”

Quinn’s eyes shift from her reflection to Brittany. “How?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the hat. You don’t usually wear hats in the middle of the week.”

“I’m just having an off day. Or, days.”

“You seemed fine yesterday.”

“I was.”

“So, it’s just today.”

“Yes.”

“But you said days.”

“Yeah.”

Brittany sits up and closes the magazine before she hops off the counter. “Oh my god. Quinn. Are you having a groundhog day?”

There’s no way. “What?”

“The same day over and ov--”

“No, I know what it is, Britt. But why would you ask that?”

“Sometimes I think I’m having one, but then it just turns out I’m having the same thing for breakfast or the cafeteria’s repeating lunch specials. Or you’re on your period.”

Quinn doesn’t even bother asking for a frame of reference for that last one. “But you don’t really believe it could actually happen, do you?”

“Why not? The idea had to come from somewhere.”

“So, if I tell you that I’ve been living the same Wednesday for, like, at least five days, you’d believe me?”

Brittany nods. “Of course I would.”

The relief she feels is incredible. “Okay, now I kind of do want to make out with you.”

“But don’t you want to talk about the day thing, first?”

* * *

One of the best things about Brittany Pierce is her ability to just accept things at face value. Yes, it makes it easy for people to take advantage of her. Yes, it makes her come across as weird, sometimes. But Quinn’s always appreciated the simplicity of Brittany’s approach to life.

When Brittany tells her about the code word, she’s not as shocked as she thought she might be.

“What?”

“Tomorrow, or I guess the next today, when you see me, say, ‘carnation enchilada’. And I’ll know you’re having a groundhog day.”

“And you’ll know what I’m talking about?”

“Definitely. That’s been the code since I was eight.”

“But, if you believe in groundhog days, can’t I just tell you?”

“But then I’ll know I actually talked to you and that you’re not, like, a future robot.”

“Why would I be a future robot who’s also having a groundhog day?”

“I don’t know, Quinn. You’d have to ask the robot.”

Okay, maybe simplicity isn’t the right word.

* * *

Rachel actually does show up to their originally scheduled songwriting appointment in the auditorium. To be honest, Quinn’s surprised. Then again, she walked out on their conversation earlier, so it’s possible the other girl has more questions.

“I have a question.” Not just possible, apparently.

Quinn stays seated at the piano. She feels safe there. “Go ahead.”

“You made it sound like you’re settling for Finn. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Rachel, he’s a nice guy and on the football team, which are good, but he’s not that--”

“I mean it doesn’t make sense for you to have to settle. Why would you even think you need to do that? You can have anyone.”

“I’m sure it seems that way, but that’s not reality.”

“Then would you care to explain to me what actually is?”

Quinn can’t tell if Rachel’s actually curious or just trying to pick a fight or what. Whatever’s happening, it’s putting her on edge. “I already told you. I’m not cut out for leaving this town. You are. Leaving Finn behind is the best thing you can do, so why torture yourself with some illusion between now and graduation?”

“You just can’t let me have him, can you?”

“What is wrong with you? You’re so... frustrating.” Now she’s up from the bench and it’s practically a rerun of a previous day. Maybe more than one. “You need to let go of this idea you have about romance, because Finn isn’t it.”

“But he is for you?”

“No. He isn’t.”

“Then why won’t you let him go?”

“Because I have to keep him away from you!” She’s ready to make another exit, but Rachel beats her to it and she’s watching brunette hair fan out behind that red and white sweater as the girl storms away from her. It’s obvious she’s crying.

But there’s nothing she can do.

Is there?

* * *

That night, as she drifts off to sleep, she decides the next day is going to be all about a different plan of attack. No songwriting. No school.

Maybe the reason she’s reliving all of this is because she’s supposed to face something she’s been avoiding.

She almost sends an email before she goes to bed, then realizes it won’t matter.

* * *

In the morning, she wakes up to the same song, takes the same shower with not enough conditioner, takes a few minutes to make herself presentable, then grabs a cup of coffee before making the drive to Toledo.


	5. Chapter 5

After about twenty minutes on the road, her stomach gets the better of her and she pulls into a McDonald’s Drive-Thru for a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. This whole daily repetition thing makes her a little less cautious about what she eats, because it won’t be sticking to her hips.

She makes a call from the car and knows it’s short notice, but it’s not like she can plan ahead, at this point.

Even after the phone call, Quinn spends an extra ten minutes sitting in the car once she reaches her final destination. Sitting on the passenger seat is a small gift bag and it seems far too insignificant, like it’s too little, too late. But all she has right now is time. Kind of.

She closes her eyes and takes one last slow, deep breath before picking up the bag and exiting the Volkswagen.

* * *

“Quinn, I have to say this is a big surprise.”

“I’m sorry. I would have called to ask earlier if you thought it was a good idea, but it’s been a very weird week for me and I just... I just got in the car and drove out here.”

“Well, we were just about to have lunch, so go ahead and come in.”

“Thank you.” Quinn exhales a huge sigh of relief as she steps inside Shelby’s apartment. Beth isn’t anywhere to be seen, but there’s a banging sound coming from just around the corner and as she follows Shelby the short distance from the front door to the kitchen, she sees the source of the clatter.

In the highchair is the blonde ten month old, who babbles as she slaps her tiny hands against the plastic tray in front of her.

“I know, I know,” Shelby says, smoothing her hand over Beth’s hair. She places a slice of cheese and some shredded pieces of turkey in front of the little girl. “Let’s show Quinn how well you’re doing with finger foods, kiddo.”

Quinn’s seen plenty of pictures, but she still isn’t prepared for the sudden pull of emotion she feels. She’s frozen in the doorway until she realizes she’s just been standing there, staring. “She’s... so big.”

Shelby nods. “She’s meeting all her growth and development goals. Very chatty, but she only seems to have latched on to one grown-up word, so far--”

“Nonono,” Beth interjects.

“That’s the one.”

Quinn smiles at Beth, because she can’t help herself. “I just needed to see her.”

“I’ve always said I’m open to you and Noah getting to know her. Though, I assumed we’d discuss it first.”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn says, again. “I...” Her eyes shift down toward the small silver bag she’s still clutching. “I brought this for her.” She reaches into the gift bag and pulls out a Cheerios teddy bear, one that’s been sitting in her room since her squad won Nationals freshman year.

Beth’s eyes light up at the sight of the toy and she holds her hands out, suggesting in baby talk that she’s very pleased with the offering.

“Teddy’s more interesting than turkey, right now. I can tell.” Shelby wipes off Beth’s fingers then lifts the girl out of the high chair. “Beth, I want you to meet Quinn. She’s... she’s someone you should know.”

And just like that, Beth’s being pressed into Quinn’s arms and suddenly Quinn isn’t sure if she can juggle a toddler and a teddy bear, but she has to figure it out, right now, because she’s holding one of each. Beth squirms because she wants the bear, so Quinn holds it up until it’s gripped in little hands.

“I know you don’t remember me, but I remember you.” Quinn has to clear her throat, before she continues. “And if your... if your mommy agrees, I’d like to visit you sometimes.” She risks a glance at Shelby who offers a nod. “Maybe I can even get your... well... my friend, Pu-- Noah, to come with me.”

“Nono,” Beth says as she tugs at the bear’s red and white skirt.

“Don’t take it personally. I’m pretty sure she’s agreeing with you,” Shelby says. “And we’d very much like to have you and Noah here for her birthday.”

Quinn has a feeling Puck won’t need much convincing to join her. Beth has always been their one, unwavering connection.

* * *

She spends a couple hours with the Corcorans before she decides it’s time to leave without wearing out her welcome. For so long, she’s been avoiding this, avoiding Beth and Shelby because she had no idea how she was expected to interact with either of them. It turns out, she could have been doing this all year, she could have been experiencing milestones in person instead of through a quarterly email. From now on, though, she plans to be there, she plans to write, she plans to send letters. She wants to know Beth and she wants Beth to know her.

This has to be what this entire thing is about. It’s not about a stupid song. It’s not about cheerleading. It’s about her family, her life, her choices.

When she gets home, she breezes through her homework (she’s already worked out the answers), watches some tv, and falls into a content sleep.

* * *

When she wakes up to the Supremes and sees the teddy bear in the red and white Cheerios uniform still sitting on her desk, she feels like she’s about to throw up.

* * *

It’s kind of like the day, the other today, the one where she stayed in bed. Except around eleven, she opens her mother’s liquor cabinet. Just because it has a lock doesn’t mean she can’t get in.

After an hour and few slugs of Glenlivet 12, she fumbles with her phone until she manages to send a text message to Puck: u shld com ovr

She knows there should be more letters than that, but who cares?

Her phone quickly buzzes with a reply: wher r u ??? Which gets the response: my hous

Puck shows up in less than fifteen minutes, probably because he was already cutting class. “Q?” he calls out as he knocks on the door. “You okay? Did you fall in the shower or something?”

Quinn groans as she stumbles toward the front door, grabs the handle, and yanks it open before turning right back around and depositing herself on the living room sofa. “I’m fine.”

“You just always get on my case about texting with whole words and you never ditch class, so I--” He pauses as he pushes the door shut. “Holy shit, you smell like a Jack Daniels threw up on you. Are you-- Quinn are you drunk?”

She laughs at him from her spot on the couch. “Jealous?”

“It’s the middle of Wednesday. Fuck yes, I’m jealous.” He’s cautious as he rounds the arm of the couch to look at her. “And a little worried because this isn’t like you.”

“Oh, like you even know me.”

“I know you enough.”

“You want a drink or not?”

“I... fuck, yeah, why the hell not?” He sits down a full cushion away from her and takes a drink from the bottle. “Damn, this is the fancy shit.”

“Mom only does the fancy shit.” Whatever personal space buffer Puck left between them is already gone, because Quinn’s pawing at his jacket. “Take this off, it’s too hot in here.”

“Q-- Hey.” He puts his hands over hers and stops her from pulling at his coat. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Quinn replies. Her eyes are fixed on his lips and she’s suddenly thinking about how, even though he’s something of an idiot and he has a stupid haircut, he’s a really good kisser. And then she stops thinking about it because she’s actually kissing him and, yep, her memory was absolutely right, as logged in single malt whiskey as it is.

But then he’s pulling back and saying, “--whoa. We can’t--”

“We can. We can do this. We made a beautiful, perfect baby girl. We can do it, again. Just--” Quinn presses her mouth to his one more time, but he jerks away.

“Quinn. Okay, you’re hot and I’ve thought about this happening again plenty of times, but Lauren will kick my ass if I cheat on her and I really don’t want that to happen. Even if I didn’t think she’d kick my ass, I really dig her and I don’t want to screw it up.”

Quinn’s the one to withdraw, now. “You can’t be serious. You can have me. You’ve wanted me this whole time. I broke up with you and you’re supposed to want me back because I’m the one people are supposed to want.”

“You’re drunk and you need--”

“I don’t need anything. Get out.”

“Quinn--”

“Get out!”

The door slams, but she doesn’t hear his truck start up. She doesn’t care. She just lies on the couch and falls asleep until her mother comes home and wakes her up.

Judy grounds her.

Quinn laughs in her face.

No one can do anything to her.

She’s untouchable.

Puck’s gone ahead and proved that.


	6. Chapter 6

There really should be a hangover that causes her to wince when The Supremes jolt her awake, but it's not there. There's no headache, no nausea, just the general grogginess of a regular school day morning. This also means there's no haze to make her wonder what she did the day before. It's clear how desperately she threw herself at Puck, how she tried to convince him to get her pregnant, again.

She knows it's pathetic.

She's pathetic.

She thinks about downing that whole bottle of Valium. But that feels like she'd be giving in to whatever's making this happen. She's not so sure it's God or whatever, anymore.

"Fuck," she mutters to herself, then she shouts it to the room, "Fuck!"

The iPod slips easily out of the dock, but it fails to shatter the way she expects when it hits the wall. It just kind of bounces onto the carpet. Closer inspection reveals that at least the screen is broken. It's not enough to quell her current appetite for destruction.

She flings her closet doors open and yanks a few things off the hangars. Dresses, skirts, floral patterns and pastels pile up on her bed. There's a pause when she finds one of Finn's old Foreigner t-shirts that she borrowed when she helped him paint the kitchen at the Hudson house two summers ago. It's about to go in the pile with the other clothes she's pulled, but she changes her mind and picks up a pair of scissors from her desk. Immediately, the sleeves come off and she rips the crew neck collar out, then she's wearing it. By the time she's carrying an armload of clothing downstairs, she's taken the blades to a pair of jeans, which have been upgraded to shorts, and they're being worn over a pair of black tights.

She carries her discarded wardrobe outside, opens the lid of the over-sized barbecue that sits on the back patio, and dumps everything on top of the grill. She squeezes out at least half the bottle of lighter fluid all over everything, then stands back as she lights one of Judy's kitchen matches. She can't help but feel a small release at the crack and hiss as it lights in her hand. But that's nothing compared to the rush that washes over her when she tosses the lit match onto the saturated heap in front of her. The flames spread quickly and they're immediately licking higher and higher and Quinn wonders if any of the stuff in there is toxic. Whatever.

As it burns, she turns and walks back into the house, heading straight for the downstairs bathroom. In the cupboard under the sink is just what she's looking for. It's leftover from her sister's reign in the Fabray house, back when she used to cut her high school boyfriend's hair. Quinn was still "Lucy" back then, and she couldn't understand why this guy couldn't get his own hair cut somewhere, but now she completely understands the need to groom high school boys, because Noah Puckerman is a walking, talking example of what happens when they take care of it themselves.

Then again, Puck seems to be onto something.

Quinn takes the electric clippers out of the case and plugs them in. They buzz when she flicks the switch and it's an intimidating sound, so she turns them back off as she studies her reflection in the mirror. A hand runs through her long, blonde hair and she sets the clippers back down. In the case is also a pair of scissors.

She's just incinerated over half her wardrobe.

There's really no going back, at this point.

She grips a handful of hair and picks up the black handled shears. In less than a minute, Quinn Fabray erases her destiny of winning "Best Hair" in this year's Thunderbolt.

* * *

She's at least two hours late to school.

But then, that's not why people are staring at her when she strolls down the halls of McKinley. They all just stare, without saying anything, because what is there to say?

"You know, I thought you were at least four years and a Vegas annulment away from a full on Spears meltdown." Santana, of course, has never shied away from speaking her mind. "You look like a sad baby parakeet."

Quinn flinches away when Santana tries to run a hand over her shaved head. "What do you care?"

"I don't. But when whatever you're on finally stops pumping crazy through your veins, you're going to cry for a week straight."

"Hey, Santana, aren't you going to introduce me to your fr--" Puck's suddenly edging Santana aside. "Oh, fuck, that's Quinn."

She's not sure if she can even stomach speaking to him, right now. "I have to go."

"No, it looks cool! I just wasn't exp--"

But Quinn's pushing past him, past Santana, and into the flow of student traffic behind them. It unfortunately leads her right to where Finn's standing.

"Quinn? What happ-- Hey, is that my shirt?"

All he gets from her is a roll of the eyes as she continues around the corner and finally pushes the door open to the first floor bathroom. The bell rings and she listens as the halls fall silent. Her first impression is that she's alone in the space, but then door to the stall next to the window opens and someone steps out, with a cigarette to her lips. It's Mack, someone Quinn hasn't really spoken to since the year before, when they were in the same unwed mothers group together.

"Shit. Thought it was empty in here."

"Might as well be."

"Need one?" Mack asks, holding her pack of Marlboros out to Quinn.

She doesn't. But then she doesn't usually roast her own clothes or shave her head, either. She accepts a cigarette and lets Mack light it for her. "Thanks."

"This is new," Mack says, taking in Quinn's appearance.

"Woke up and wanted a change."

Mack seems to accept that as enough. They smoke in silence until they snub the butts out on the windowsill.

"You going to class?" Mack asks.

Quinn isn't sure. "You're not."

"I like to meet up with some college guys behind the 7-11 for a beer."

"That's--" Idiotic is a word that comes to mind. Also, dangerous. And, illegal. "Take me with you."

* * *

It's barely three in the afternoon and, like a true Fabray, she's drunk. Actually, she's well aware that Judy can hold her liquor and, for a moment, Quinn wonders if her mother would be disappointed in her for being a lightweight.

Her car is still at school and she's somewhere near Breadstix, which means home is closer. Mack ditched her for a skateboarder who promised to smoke her out with something called "Dragonlady Haze" which Quinn assumes is a kind of marijuana. With her temporary friend of the day having bailed out, she feels safer stumbling down the street alone than hanging out behind the convenience store with some guys she just met and, so far, it's working out for her. The sidewalk is a constant companion and hasn't led her astray, yet. She's intoxicated, yes, but she's still able to navigate the street signs. It'll take at least twenty minutes to walk home from where she is, but it's a nice enough day out. It's not like there will be any surprises in the weather, because she's seen it all play out before.

She hangs a right at a familiar street and it's not her usual route home but she's on foot and she knows she can cut through one of the neighborhoods and maybe get home a little faster. After two blocks it dawns on her that one of those neighborhoods is Rachel's.

It was only a couple weeks ago that she was drunk on this same street. Well, a couple weeks according to a calendar. It's been longer than that, to her.

Maybe she should stop by and say hi.

Wait. No. They aren't really friends. And she's drunk. That would be awkward.

"Excuse me, may I help you with so-- Quinn?"

Rachel's there, as if she's materialized out of nowhere, except that she's obviously just been walking home, because she lives here.

Quinn can't figure out why Rachel's staring at her, so wide-eyed, until she realizes the stare is focused on her hair. Or, lack of hair.

"Oh, I cut it."

"I can see that." Rachel's now eyeing the rest of Quinn. "Are you... okay?"

"I'm fine." It's Quinn's default, even inebriated.

"You're drunk."

"It's fine."

"You should come in for some water."

Quinn thinks about saying no, but she is kind of really thirsty. "Fine." She follows Rachel up the walk and waits as she unlocks the front door.

"I wondered why you missed our meeting this afternoon, but I can see that perhaps there are other things on your mind."

Right. Their meeting. It's been a few days since Quinn's had that conversation with her.

"I forgot."

"Kitchen's this way," Rachel says, moving away from Quinn and through the living room.

Quinn shuffles behind Rachel, feeling so out of place in a home that's so warm and inviting. Rachel fills a glass from the dispenser on the fridge, then hands it to Quinn. She's mid gulp when Rachel begins to speak.

"Can I ask you something?"

Quinn silently begs Rachel not to ask and tries to swallow fast enough to cut her off. "Ra--" She coughs from the water, but that just gives Rachel more of a window.

"Are you and Finn... together?"

"No."

There's a fury in Rachel's eyes, one that indicates she knows something. "Really?"

"Look, we were. We... it was a bad idea. I don't want it, anymore."

"Does he know that?"

"Why does it matter to you, Rachel? He's... he'll only hold you back."

"You just don't want him to pick me over you."

"No. That's so not even..." Quinn still isn't sure "what even" anything is, at this point. "Look, you're just better off." She rests the glass on the counter, staring at it as she tries to focus through the beer induced haze in her mind.

"Am I really supposed to believe that you're so concerned about me?" Rachel's arms cross over her chest as she looks at Quinn.

"Yes." That's the truth, though Quinn wasn't really planning to share that, out loud.

"And you choose to express that by keeping Finn to yourself?" Rachel rolls her eyes. "You keep trying to rewrite history, Quinn. Well, you can't. You can't change the fact that he likes me."

"You're infuriating," Quinn replies, stepping away from the counter, eyes locked on Rachel's. "You're so talented and you have a great opportunity to just get out of Lima and never look back, but all you can do is think about stupid Finn Hudson. And I keep trying, god, I keep trying to tell you that you're making a mistake and you never listen." Okay, maybe Rachel doesn't remember any of those times, but isn't there some part of the universe that could be putting that message through?

"You can say what you want, but I'm not giving up on him. It's not over between--"

Maybe it's because Quinn's trying to shock some sense into her. Maybe it's because she's tired of saying the same words over and over. Maybe it's the multiple cans of Heineken she consumed behind the 7-11. For whatever reason, though, there's no maybe about the fact that she's roughly kissing Rachel Berry. Or, she is until Rachel's hands push against her chest and shove her away.

Immediately, Quinn feels regret and she's quick to apologize. "I'm sorry, I..."

"You need to leave." Rachel turns toward the counter, away from Quinn.

"Yeah." There's no hesitation as Quinn bolts for the front door, then down the front walkway to the street.

When she gets home, her mother is waiting for her in the living room, glass of scotch in hand.

"Lucy Quinn Fabray. Can you please tell me what in the hell you were thinking--" This is Judy's first look at her daughter's new look.

That night, when Quinn falls asleep, it's in a hospital bed in the psychiatric wing of Lima General.

* * *

When she wakes up in her own room, the now unbroken iPod singing the theme of her so-called insanity, Quinn wonders if God or the universe or whatever shouldn't have just left her in Room 247.

At least she has her hair back.


	7. Chapter 7

She doesn’t bother shutting off the iPod as she heads for the shower. As the hot water hits her face, she realizes she hasn’t showered since the day before this last one. She’s not in a rush because she isn’t even sure if she wants to leave the house, today. If, and it’s a big if, everything ever goes back to normal, she could just claim a sick day. She’s starting to care less about tomorrow, though.

She’s halfway through a deep shampoo lathering when she remembers the conditioner in the shower is empty. It feels like it should be easier to recall with each repeating day, but then it feels like she’s just replaced it. Which she has. Even though she hasn’t.

After rinsing the soap from her hair, she sighs as she pulls the curtain back and steps out, dripping all over the bath mat while she retrieves the bottle from under the sink. Once she’s back under the water, she resumes her regular routine, because it’s the only thing she seems to have. Or it is until she’s cycled through so many days that it adapts into something else.

It’s lonely, this feeling of being the only one who’s aware of what’s happening. Every conversation she has is forgotten, every connection she makes is severed, every bit of progress is reset.

So, what’s the point of this? Why is this happening? When does it stop?

She wonders if she’s always been in the bed at Lima General, hooked up to an IV drip of anti-psychotics and sound asleep. Or maybe she’s in a coma. Maybe she was hit by a truck and everyone’s standing around her hospital room. Maybe Rachel’s there, clutching some stupid stuffed puppy that would seem like a last second gift-shop effort if it came from Finn, but from Rachel it’s thoughtful and sweet.

Rachel.

Quinn leans against the shower wall, her forehead resting on the smooth tile.

What the hell was that about? Why would she kiss Rachel?

Not that it matter, because Rachel obviously was not at all receptive. At least, she wasn’t at all receptive to being ambushed in her kitchen by someone who was clearly having an identity crisis.

For the briefest of moments, Quinn considers if there’s a situation where Rachel would want to kiss her. But then, why is she even thinking about that? It’s not like Quinn’s gay. She has a boyfriend. A nice, tall, good-looking guy. And her mother approves of him. Or, she did back before it was assumed Finn was the father of her baby. She’ll probably think he’s just fine once they go public with their relationship.

Except that’s not what Quinn wants to do. She doesn’t want people to know about them. And, over the last several days, she’s either broken up with him or insisted she doesn’t really have an interest in dating him.

So, what’s all that about, anyway?

Quinn finally shuts off the water and reaches for the towel, wondering how much less time this would take if she didn’t have to rub her hair dry. The full G.I. Jane was too extreme, but maybe she does want to take off a few inches. If she’s going to have to relive the same day, she might as well check out a few new hairstyles along the way.

Maybe she’ll stop by the salon after school.

Or, maybe she’ll go now. Missing school feels inconsequential, at this point.

* * *

Every time she catches her reflection, it makes her smile. Unlike the extreme makeover she did to herself the previous day, this haircut suits her. It's just above shoulder length and it makes her feel lighter.

She takes advantage of the fact she's playing hooky and heads for Barnes and Noble. Disappearing into the corner of art books with a chai latte feels like a perfect escape from all the mayhem of the week's worth of Wednesdays she's endured. Has it been more than that? She's starting to lose count.

It's really just what she needs. No one bothers her, no one asks why she's out of school, no one really cares, but it's in a comforting way rather than making her feel abandoned. It's peaceful.

She spends all day there, though she relocates a few times, first to the cafe for a sandwich in the early afternoon, then to one of the more comfortable armchairs in the center of the store. After about a dozen coffee table art collections, she checks out the current table of new fiction, then settles on rereading The Glass Castle for the remainder of the day.

It's only when they announce it's closing time that she leaves.

Her mom thinks she's been at Santana's since school let out and it's late enough that the house is quiet when she lets herself inside.

This has been the most relaxing day she's had in a very long time.

* * *

When she wakes up to the same track, again, she knows the vacation's over.

* * *

She wasn't quite used to her new, shortened hairstyle by the end of the day before, but Quinn finds herself missing it when she pushes her hair away from her face as she forces herself upright in her bed.

What now?

It starts with a shower and, for the first time in how ever many days, she remembers to grab the conditioner before she steps into the tub. By the time she's almost finished blowing her hair dry, she has an idea.

When she stops by Starbucks, she remembers to ask for soy milk in Rachel's latte.

Just like the times before, Rachel's in the choir room, alone.

"Hey," Quinn says, smiling at the other girl as she steps into the space, drink carrier in her hands.

"Good morning," Rachel replies, though it's apparent she's a little bit startled.

Quinn hands a cup to Rachel. "Soy vanilla latte."

"You... brought me coffee?"

"I thought we could chat a little before class."

"That's very nice of you. I wasn't prepared to work on our song until this afternoon, but I c--"

"Not about the song."

"Oh."

"We're friends, right?" Quinn asks.

"I... would like to think so, yes. Given what happened last year, we certainly have been through some interesting things together."

"Yeah. So... I feel like I should tell you that Finn and I have been seeing each other." Quinn hates the way Rachel's face falls, the way she can't seem to look up from her coffee cup. "But... I don't really think it's going to work out."

"Oh?" Rachel's eyes dart upward to look at Quinn. "Why not?"

"Rachel, you don't have to act like you're upset for me over it."

"That's not what I'm... why are you even telling me about it?"

"I know you like him."

"I... it would be dishonest of me to say that I don't."

"But I think you should focus on yourself for a while."

"So you have enough time to decide you want to date him, again?" Rachel turns away from Quinn and sets her coffee on the piano bench and picks up a folder of sheet music. She leafs through the pages while she waits for Quinn's reply.

It's frustrating how this just seems to turn, every single time. Quinn isn't sure how to counter. "I told you, he and I aren't..."

"Not right now. But I bet when prom season rolls around, you'll be needing someone to run with you."

Sometimes, Quinn really does believe that Rachel has some kind of psychic ability, because she's definitely thought about that exact scenario. "I'm just trying to be a friend, okay? You don't need him. I don't need him. Neither of us need him."

Rachel spins back around. "Maybe that's how relationships work for you, Quinn. That you just find someone who has what you need and then dump them once you've gotten it, but that's not how it's supposed to work."

"That is not what I do!"

"So when you knew Noah was the father of your baby, you stayed with Finn because you wanted to?"

"I stayed with him because he wanted to be there for me."

"Because you lied to him!" Rachel doesn't give Quinn a chance to respond. "And then when he didn't work out, you ran to Noah. And once you were done with him, you started the new year off with, surprise, the new quarterback."

"You're twisting things to make it all sound contrived."

"Then why did you dump Sam for Finn?"

"Because I..." But Quinn doesn't really have an answer. She also doesn't really feel like arguing about her relationship history with Rachel Berry, of all people. "You know, it's really none of your business. So... have fun chasing Finn Hudson and ruining your future."

"You'd be the expert on that, wouldn't you?"

She doesn't mean to slap Rachel. It just happens before she can stop herself.

"Oh god, I am so sorry."

Rachel twists away from her, palm against the spot on her face where Quinn made contact. "You need to leave."

Funny. That's the same thing she said when Quinn kissed her.

"I'm sorry," she repeats, before quickly moving for the door.

* * *

She sticks around for classes, because it's actually kind of refreshing to be back in school, though she spends the breaks avoiding anyone she knows. At least she does until lunch.

That's when she texts Brittany and tells her to meet under the bleachers.

* * *

"Are you starting a gang?"

"No." Quinn doesn't even ask why that's Brittany's first question. She's known her long enough to understand there's some kind of disjointed logic happening inside her friend's head. "I... um... carnation enchilada?"

Brittany's eyes light up and she almost bounces with excited. "You're having a groundhog day!"

"I actually had no idea if that would work."

"Of course it would. It's the code."

"Yeah, but... okay, I never should have doubted your plan." Quinn pushes her hands deep into her skirt pockets. "So, I need some help."

"Okay. All right. This is so exciting. How many days has it been? Has it been more than a year? Have you killed anyone? Robbed a bank?"

"Uh, a week. Maybe a week and half. And no, I haven't killed anyone or robbed anything."

"Bummer."

"Seriously?"

"You basically have a pass from the universe to do anything, Quinn."

"Yeah and what if I end up in jail and that's the day that works?" That reminds her of the night at the hospital. "Though, I did end up on the psych ward once."

"How?"

"I, uh, shaved my head. And burned all my clothes in mom's barbecue."

"Wow. How'd you look?"

"Not the best."

"Bet you're still way hot without hair."

"Can we focus?"

"Okay." Brittany opens her bag to retrieve a notebook and a pen with a rubbery alien on the end of it. "So, is there anything you keep being drawn to? A person? A place? That statue of the guy on the horse in the park? I'm pretty sure that's a stargate." She opens the notebook and waits for Quinn to offer up anything noteworthy.

Quinn thinks about her repeated Wednesdays. "I don't know. I... drove out and saw Beth once."

"Uh huh," that goes on the page. "What else?"

"I think I've been drunk a couple times."

"Typical."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, not for you. For groundhog days. Go on."

"I keep fighting with Rachel."

"That's not really new."

"It's the argument, though. It's about Finn."

Brittany's still unimpressed. "And?"

"I slapped her this morning."

"Finally."

"And I... don't tell anyone this but...I kissed her once, too."

Brittany stops writing and looks up at Quinn. "I knew it."

"No, it wasn't... it wasn't anything. It was the day I shaved my head. I was... it was a weird day."

"What did she do?"

"Told me to get out of her kitchen."

"Oh my god, do her dads have a cotton candy machine in there? I could swear I kept smelling cotton candy that night we were over for the party."

"Britt."

"What?"

* * *

Her conversation with Brittany isn't a total waste. She at least has a list of things that seem to be making appearances on most of her repeats. Not that she'll have it in the morning, but she plans to write it all back down as soon as she wakes up.

She knows it won't matter, but before she goes to sleep, Quinn sends Rachel a Facebook message that says: **I'm sorry.**


End file.
